Gifts of the Sea of Voices
Swimming endlessly through the sea of voices, what I gained was not merely the awakening of Mental Strength.
Simply put, this body of the Iron Man now rivals that of a whale.
Of course, in a world where humans shatter rocks and wield magic, one might dismiss a mere whale as unremarkable.
Yet just as the continent's tigers still reign over the mountains, so too does the whale dominate the seas.
Thus, whether in our distant modern age or this continent I now inhabit, the sight of that majestic form stirs an involuntary awe in the hearts of we insignificant humans of nature, reducing us to specks.
"...Hm."
That said, it does not mean my body is overwhelmingly immense. Its size remains human, after all.
However, the current Iron Man boasts skin as tough as a whale's hide against most armors, and though it lacks a whale's mana capacity, all my magical abilities—from Telekinesis onward—have advanced dramatically.
Advanced Telekinesis.
The pinnacle of Telekinesis, which I thought would take five years to master, I acquired in the sea.
"The time has come."
Tick—!
The minute hand of my wristwatch struck ten minutes. I took a single step forward. The ground collapsed beneath me at once.
Krurrrrumble...
Chunks of earth, trees, and grass crumbling to pieces, then entirely. A swirling black magical trap sinking into the depths.
I floated above it all.
Without a foothold anywhere, standing in midair.
The simplest application of Advanced Telekinesis: applying delicate telekinetic force to every particle of my clothing, enabling flight across my entire body.
A buoyancy so natural it carries no loss of dignity.
Kwaaaaa—!
Then, from afar, dozens of massive pillars surged forth. Some kind of siege weapons.
I dismantled them with a mere glance.
Swooooosh...
The battering rams caught in my gaze shattered into gravel mid-flight.
Whiiiish—!
The second wave: archers. Hundreds of steel arrows sliced through the air toward me, only to be seized by Telekinesis and redirected at our own lines. Faint screams rose from those struck by the reversal.
The third: magic. Condensed mana hung in the air above, plummeting like a massive meteor. Water tendrils like tentacles gripped my ankles.
The fourth: warriors. Dozens of vigilantes charged before the meteor even arrived, as if intent on mutual destruction.
"...How foolish."
A perfect assault from land, sea, and air, yet I could not suppress a sigh.
These fools knew not the path to survival.
Not that I could enlighten them, with Imperial Intelligence agents swarming the area.
"Tch."
I casually unraveled their spells. The warriors I bound midair with Duct Tape.
Then, I raised the earth itself.
Ku-gu-gu-gu—!
Erecting a colossal dome over the entire area, sealing off Padahal completely. Not even the slimmest chance of escape remained.
"...!"
"Ah!"
Exactly forty-three warriors: some taped mid-charge, others with weapons and mana particleized by Telekinesis. Their faces stiffened as they turned back.
They must have hoped to buy time for the remaining Altiegue to evacuate.
I fiddled with the scattered buttons on my sleeve as I spoke.
"Shortsighted. Is this how all Altiegue think?"
I floated lightly toward one, peering into his face.
He met my gaze without flinching.
"Hm."
Man or woman, I could not yet tell, but to the naked eye, this one possessed remarkable resolve and talent.
I approached closer.
"...Not bad eyes at all."
I levitated the Mokgangcheol from my inner pocket with Telekinesis.
Hummmm... The Mokgangcheol hummed threateningly.
Yet he glared steadfastly. I smiled faintly and gestured.
"I like it. Preserve that conviction long."
The Mokgangcheol pierced both his eyes.
"Gaaahhh!"
Crunch—! The sound of eyeballs pulverized, followed by agonized screams.
I took up the radio without a second glance.
....
Padahal Altiegue village. The detention camp holding some three thousand four hundred there—all bound for Rohalak.
Thud—!
I stamped the Altiegue detention writ. But Betan across the desk wore a slightly dissatisfied expression.
Betan muttered, lips pursed.
"...Are you sure? Rohalak's already overflowing with Altiegue."
"If it's the detention subsidy you mean, I'll give it all to you."
"No, sir."
Betan shook his head.
"Just... what if gathering them all in one place causes issues?"
"Kill them. That's it."
As I said, Rohalak held many Altiegue. The only camp never to operate its gas chambers.
"True enough... Yes, Professor, your judgment is always sound. More importantly, what of Premien?"
Betan filed the writ. I nodded.
"She passed the blood test."
"Yes, but she's still suspicious. Seems sympathetic to Altiegue."
Premien, who fled under pretense of the Voice, recently underwent Betan's "direct" blood verification. She passed boldly, somehow.
Yet Betan and the nobles' suspicions lingered.
"No matter. Premien will be recalled to the homeland anyway."
"Oh? Where to?"
"Rohalak."
"Hah!"
Betan grinned.
From Security Ministry vice-director to Rohalak deputy warden. A massive demotion, but Premien's only lifeline.
"If she's Altiegue, or a kindhearted imperial collaborator, she'll show signs there. Rohalak informants will watch her twenty-four hours."
"As expected of you, Professor. Though lately, strange shadows have been tailing you."
I nodded.
Imperial Intelligence. Or the palace's more secretive, Emperor-direct "Shadows."
One or both, someone was digging into me.
"I don't know who's bold enough to stalk you, but..."
"Not your concern."
"Right, of course. Anyway, the danjeon extraction schedule?"
Betan opened Padahal's roster. I scanned names and faces, pointing to one entry.
Lucy.
As suspected, one of the late-game named Altiegue.
"Spare this one."
"Pardon? She's vigilante corps. If we don't extract the danjeon at intake..."
Betan's face clouded with doubt.
I replied.
"It violates Altiegue law."
"Altiegue law...?"
"When detaining all Altiegue, extract the danjeon or an equivalent organ."
Danjeon or equivalent organ.
Not both—one suffices.
"I've already crushed the retinas."
"...Ah~ The one who glared at you defiantly. But no one would complain over an extra danjeon extraction—"
"It's law penned by His Majesty himself. We cannot defy it."
Of course, it wouldn't matter, but Deculein's obsessive adherence to rules was infamous in the Empire.
Betan knew it well, nodding with a smile.
"Yes. Your loyalty is exemplary, Professor. I hate breaking laws too. We'll just drug this one lightly."
"Do so."
....
Meanwhile.
"Fucking hot."
Premien arrived at Rohalak alone. No escort, no luggage, no severance.
She'd been exiled like vermin.
"Oh, you're here."
At the Rohalak camp entrance, Yeriel—sunglasses on, barking orders at slaves(?—waved upon spotting her.
Premien approached with a bow.
"Miss Yeriel. An honor."
"Honor my ass. Dragged here against your will."
"...."
Premien surveyed Rohalak wordlessly.
Not her first visit, but it always felt barren. Tens of thousands of Altiegue surviving—
no, dying—
or living?—
in this desert-like waste.
"Prisoners are over there."
Yeriel pointed. Bound figures huddled trembling atop trucks.
Premien circled them silently, then froze. A familiar face amid them.
...Lucy.
"Moving them's your job. Here's your ID badge."
Premien took everything Yeriel offered, swallowing hard. She cleared her throat to hide it.
"Yes. But... that prisoner with the eyepatch?"
She couldn't resist asking.
Yeriel glanced over.
"Oh, her? Acted cocky with the Young Lord, got that. But she kept her danjeon instead."
"Kept her danjeon...?"
"Yeah, eyes extracted in its place. Can't do polite speech to save my life. Banmal it is."
"...."
Premien eyed Yeriel up and down.
Looks younger than me.
This bitch.
"Anyway, why? Know her?"
"Yes. Wanted criminal from Security."
"Oho... Who?"
"One of Padahal's pillars."
"Really? Then I'll cut her danjeon later. Our dear Young Lord obsesses over 'one or the other'—eyes or danjeon."
"...."
Premien glared at Yeriel, feigning ignorance, but soon shifted to Lucy with a complicated grimace.
Yeriel, meanwhile, admired the scenery nonchalantly.
Truth be told, no one hid their inner thoughts better than Yeriel now.
"Hm? Vice-Director Premien... Deputy Warden now? Anyway, why the face?"
"...Nothing. Just a long-chased target."
Lucy.
Granddaughter of the Altiegue elder-leader.
* * *
Meanwhile, in the ever-beautiful Imperial Palace. Spring petals scattered beyond the windows, soft breezes wafting into the Emperor's bedchamber.
There, Sophien received word of Deculein.
From Intelligence and the "Shadows."
"How is it, Your Majesty?"
Ahan asked cautiously. Sophien smirked and nodded.
"Seems he's doing his job well."
"...A relief."
"Might not be."
Sophien filed Deculein's report away.
Truthfully, she barely read it. No insight or deduction of her own—just accepted the words as written.
"If not a relief...?"
"Who knows."
Perhaps he harbored other thoughts.
Some dogged sympathy for Altiegue.
"No matter."
If so, she knew not her own reaction—her fury toward Altiegue ran so deep, rootless, blackening daily. Thus, she skimmed only the surface.
"As long as I don't probe too deeply."
...Emperor Sophien of the Empire.
She wanted to trust Deculein.
"Anyway. Padahal's cleared, so three remain."
"Kelmak's already done, Your Majesty."
"Hm? When?"
Sophien furrowed her brow. Ahan presented the crystal orb from her bosom.
"Ten minutes ago, report from Professor Deculein."
"...He works fast. Like he's being chased."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Sophien sank into her chair silently. Ahan gauged her mood carefully.
Then, slowly asked.
"The venue is prepared, in any case."
"The venue."
"Yes. Your Majesty's event is fully ready."
"...."
The event.
One of the Empire's Emperor's greatest powers. Even a fool-emperor could summon all nobles to the palace with it, aiming for a reversal.
"Of course."
She nodded gravely.
There, Sophien would expose the nobles' and houses' remnants.
Those who sold the Empire's pillars to the Altar for survival in her youth, who secretly sheltered Altiegue—every house's sins and failings.
"Curious."
All of them.
She would uncover every last one...
* * *
The palace event. The continent knew the palace called it a "commemoration," but it was truly the "Emperor's Authority Display."
When the Emperor announced it, key nobles gathered at the palace to participate.
But its nature and format? Wholly the Emperor's whim.
"...Wow. Can I even be at an event like this?"
Thus, Ifrin's presence here felt like a glitch.
She wasn't noble, just a rising prospect.
"Of course! You're the star disciple of mega-famous Professor Deculein! And the Emperor invited you personally!"
Adrienne answered. She certainly belonged here talent-wise.
"His Majesty inviting you means you stood out. Be happy, Iphrin."
"What'd you call me?"
Ifrin glared even at Ihelm's normal words. She scanned his palace mage uniform top to bottom, shaking her head.
"So, what do we do here?"
She asked me again.
"I don't know yet."
Impossible to say.
We were in the palace, yes.
But the space was... unique.
Upon arrival: a stark white room. Furniture aside, blank white walls—a psych ward isolation cell.
"Hm... Magic test? Knock knock—anyone?"
Ifrin rapped the wall.
Thud—
Something dropped from the ceiling.
Darkness flooded the room.
"Event's starting. Sit, Iphrin. Don't make a racket."
Ihelm shooed her like a fly. Ifrin plopped on the sofa, cheeks puffed.
And I—hiding it—scanned amid faint tension.
...This was no joke.
"Death variables."
"Huh? What variables?"
The entire space brimmed, thick with death variables...